Rain pattered on the canvas awning overhead, Fred Astaire in patent leather taps morphing into a Lancashire clog-dancing troupe in full spate. The awning sagged alarmingly, struggling to contain the increased volume of water. Warily I shuffled closer to the wall. In the depths of the shop at my back a fluorescent tube flickered erratically, the pale yellow light reminiscent of seedy drinking dens on the Dock Road. A stray raindrop marked its icy passage down the back of my neck as I glared balefully at a red BMW coupe as it swished past, the driver doubtless cocooned in warm dry luxury.
The rain was a real cloudburst by now, an unbroken translucent curtain seamlessly bridging the gap between earth and sky. It felt like I’d had been watching the flat opposite for ever and nothing at all had happened. Apart from getting chilled to the bone.
According to my informant, Danny should have left well over an hour ago, but I was beginning to question his reliability. Boredom, adverse weather, inadequate or incorrect information were all part of the job and I knew that better than most.
Thick banks of scudding clouds whirled away into the distance. The wind was a full gale by now, howling in from the coast and leaving a tang of salt in the air. It roared between the houses, touching carelessly exposed flesh with icy fingers as cold as a traffic warden’s heart as I watched the rain in silent desperation. It was just rain doing exactly what rain was supposed to do, but I wished it would go away and do it somewhere else.
The light was improving with the imminent arrival of dawn, but the house remained dark and the street was as empty as it had been for the past three hours.
I drew back a pace at a particularly virulent gust of wind, but kept a watchful eye on the house through the plate-glass window of the shop frontage as a car pulled up and carefully reversed into a vacant slot over the road. A tall figure clambered out from behind the wheel and ran towards the shelter of the houses, flicking the remote control behind his back to lock the car. The man paused in the porch of the house directly opposite, rummaging in his jacket pocket for the door key. As he opened the door and darted inside, he half turned and I saw his face clearly.
Danny.
I’d been waiting in the dark for three hours in the expectation that he’d would be leaving the house, not returning to it from some place unknown. Another day wasted. I needed to go and have another chat to my informant. It may have been a simple mistake on his part, but I was far too cold now for charitable thoughts.
No more mister nice guy.
